


lip-sync the comforting scene

by decadencethief



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:08:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21797380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decadencethief/pseuds/decadencethief
Summary: A soft interlude for Jon and Martin after they escape the clutches of the Lonely. (TMA159 spoilers)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 8
Kudos: 94
Collections: Rusty Quill Secret Santa 2019





	lip-sync the comforting scene

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meverri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meverri/gifts).



Martin doesn't stop trembling for almost three hours after they leave the Institute.

Jon finds it hard to contain his own shivers, especially when the autumn wind crashes over him. He hasn’t set foot beyond the Institute’s door for months now, and the smell of rotting foliage and wet soil is nearly overwhelming. He pops the collar of his coat against the persistent drizzle and heads towards the tube. Martin is at his side, and even though they’re not touching, Jon makes sure to match his strides to his. They move slowly, haltingly, as Martin is unsteady on his feet. Jon wants to offer him his arm, but his own knees are no less wobbly, so he shoves his hand into his pocket. The last thing he wants is to cause both of them to fall.

Their walk is quiet, although Martin’s practically brimming with tension. There’s a lot that needs to be said, but that’s not a conversation Jon wants to rush. Not when the Lonely still clings to his skin like frost on a winter morning.

When they reach the subway station, it’s deserted. Jon’s footsteps echo off the tiled walls, louder than they should be, whereas Martin’s are completely silent. Jon turns to look at him. 

Martin’s expression is vacant, his eyes unfocused as he stares ahead at something Jon can’t see. Under the fluorescent light, his skin is a dull greyish white that almost looks immaterial. For a moment, Jon’s terrified that if he reaches over to touch him, his hand will phase right through his body.

“Martin,” he calls out in a whisper. It elicits no response. He repeats himself, slightly louder, and Martin’s eyes refocus and snap to his. Jon can’t help but smile, even though it feels brittle and foreign on his face. “You’re here.”

Martin bites his lip, studies his face, nods. “Yeah. I’m here and—and everything’s going to be a-okay.” After a pause, he adds in a warmer, more solid voice, “I need a very hot shower. Or maybe a bath. I haven’t had a bath in a while.” 

* * *

The two of them end up sitting side by side on the train, their shoulders bumping together at every lurch. Jon sees his reflection in the window across the compartment and almost looks away. He looks like a spectre come to life, all hollow cheeks and tired eyes and a harrowed expression. His hair has gotten too long, brushing against his shoulders now, and—since when do his clothes look so baggy on him? He doesn’t want to think too hard about it, so he focuses on Martin instead.

He’s pleased to note that colour is slowly returning to his cheeks. He’s still very pale, but in a way a human is pale, and not like he’s being consumed by the eldritch embodiment of loneliness. Jon will take that as a good sign. His eyes are almost back to their natural colour too — a deep brown that reminds Jon of hot chocolate instead of the murky blue of open seas.

Yet, he’s still shaking.

Almost without thinking, Jon reaches for the buttons of his coat and quickly undoes them. He pulls it off. Then, reaching around Martin’s shoulders, he carefully drapes the coat around them. 

Martin startles and his head snaps up to look at him. A warm pink dusts his cheeks, chasing away one more bit of his pallor. “Jon?” 

“You seemed cold.” Jon takes him in, wrapped in his coat that’s both too narrow and too long for him, looking more  _ real _ than he has in such a long time, and his heart swells. He wants to see more of the wondering smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth and coaxes out his dimples, and this blush that makes his freckles all the more prominent.

Martin is the first to look away, but he pulls the coat more tightly around himself. Some of the tension in his back eases. “Thank you.”

* * *

They share a room. After everything they went through, it doesn’t feel right to get separate ones, and he knows it’s not good for Martin to be alone now. Nor is it for him.

So, they find a nice hotel, and Jon uses a way too big chunk of his archivist salary to get them a luxurious suite, and he gets them room service while Martin’s taking a bath. Once he’s completed the order, Jon sprawls back onto the king-sized bed and lets the soft mattress envelop him. His eyes close. The light from the overhead lamps still seeps through his eyelids, but it’s soft and subdued and  _ normal.  _ No sounds reach his ears; the streets are too far down and the walls too thick for him to hear the traffic below. He lets himself imagine he’s just a regular person and this is just a regular evening and he can let himself relax.

Then, Martin starts singing in the bathroom. It’s not loud, caught somewhere between humming and actual singing, but still loud enough for Jon to hear. He doesn’t recognise the song. It’s slow and teeters on melancholy. Martin’s voice, hesitant as it is, lends itself nicely to the melody, and Jon finds himself focusing on it. His breathing slows as he lets the rest of the world fall off.

The next time Jon opens his eyes, it’s to the ringing of the doorbell. Martin stands by the bed, in the middle of towelling his hair off, frozen in surprise.

“I ordered room service,” Jon explains. His voice is low and hoarse, and he wonders how long he was asleep.

“Oh,” is the only thing that Martin says. He still looks uneasy.

Jon scrambles out of the bed and goes to open the door, tipping and thanking the server as quietly as he can before he wheels the cart with their food into the room. “It’s okay,” he assures Martin, although he seems to calm down as soon as the door is closed again.

“Yes,” he nods, tightening the fluffy dressing gown the hotel provided around his waist. “Thank you, Jon.”

Jon stops the cart at the foot of the bed and climbs back into the warmth of the mattress. “Of course. It’s been a long day, we need to eat.” He gives Martin a small smirk. “The least  _ Jonah _ can do is buy us dinner.”

Martin laughs. Jon can’t keep his smile from spreading wider, his cheeks heating up at the thought that he causes the pleasant rumbling sound. “I suppose you’re right.” He sits down on the bed and reaches for one of the covered plates.

There’s still a tremor to his hand.

“Are you cold?” Jon asks.

He quickly shakes his head. “No, no… A little bit, but it’s going away. The bath helped.” He meets his gaze, eyes a full warm brown, and Jon feels something inside his chest slip into place.

Then, Martin looks away again. “What are we going to do, Jon?”

_ Run,  _ Jon wants to say. They need to come up with a plan, find somewhere safe to lie low for a while, then reconvene with Basira about their next steps. They need to stay on the lookout for all the things that want to kill them, and keep searching for answers. Nowhere is safe and they cannot afford to let their guard down.

But he’s tired, and the Lonely’s still choking up his lungs, and he’s been so worried about Martin for so long that he doesn’t have the strength to take this moment away from either of them. So, he simply says, “Rest. We’ll figure the rest out tomorrow.”

Martin hesitates for a moment, then nods. “Alright.” He settles fully against the headrest, carefully balancing his plate, and Jon reaches for another one. They made it through today. For now, that’s a victory.

* * *

A little while later, when Martin nods off with his head on Jon’s shoulder and a blanket tossed haphazardly around both of them, he has finally stopped trembling.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> this is my piece for the rusty quill secret santa, for meverri! i hope you enjoyed it and i wish you very happy holidays! <3
> 
> title from poor grammar by roar.
> 
> thank you for reading and you can find me on twitter [@decadencethief](https://twitter.com/decadencethief)!


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